


Breakdown

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Series: Conversations with a Cannibal [10]
Category: Criminal Minds, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Death, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Graphic Crime Scenes, Just Ridiculous amounts of blood, M/M, Manipulation, Mentions of Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham, More Blood, Murder, Violence, disturbing images
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal begins to push Reid as far as he can, eagerly awaiting the inevitable breakdown that will follow his prodding. He didn't expect that Will Graham would get involved. That was just a happy accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this one comes from the Breaking Benjamin song "Breakdown" which I was totally not listening to on full-blast while I wrote this...
> 
> This is a two-part story. The second half will be up shortly. Also: it's a lot more gore-filled and messed up than the others so far in this series. (Things are steadily getting worse, actually...) Nothing that you haven't seen in either of the shows, of course, but still.

Spencer nudged his sunglasses more firmly in place as he gathered his bag and tried his best to ignore the angry throbbing behind his temples. The headaches had started a few months ago and only seemed to be getting worse. He was already taking more aspirin than was recommended, which wasn’t really helping. He was eager to get out of the office and have a couple of days off. Maybe if he got a good night’s sleep he’d feel better.

“Hey, Reid!” a hand caught him gently around the wrist before he could finish packing up and he blinked, his head jerking fast enough to increase the pounding. The hand fell away and he looked up to see Ashley Seaver standing there, smiling softly at him.

He thought she had a nice smile, soft and pretty without being timid or awkward. Despite her youth, Seaver was incredibly confident. It was interesting.

“Any plans for the weekend?”

 _Was she asking him on a date?_ The thought flitted through his mind and he shifted nervously, nodding and immediately wishing he hadn’t as the pain intensified.

“Uh, yeah, I’m going out to Baltimore tomorrow morning. I won’t be back until Monday night.”

“Pretty Boy, I thought we talked about this,” Morgan was suddenly behind him and Spencer jumped. How was everyone managing to sneak up on him lately? Were his headaches effecting him that much? Maybe he should talk to Hotch…

“What’s in Baltimore?” Seaver asked curiously. It took Spencer a moment to remember that she hadn’t been around during his last trip to speak with Hannibal – it felt like a lifetime ago though it was less than five months. 

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he answered promptly, starting to move away from them and hoping that they would take the hint and leave him alone.

“Wait,” Seaver quickly fell in step beside him with Morgan on her other side, “Hannibal the Cannibal? The Chesapeake Ripper? I thought he never talked to profilers.”

“None but our resident genius,” Morgan said, his voice sounding sour as he frowned at him. Seaver picked up on the disapproval quickly.

“Is his talking to Lecter a bad thing?”

“No,” Spencer answered immediately, “Everyone else is just worrying about nothing.”

“He’s been talking to him for over a year,” Morgan said, “Unofficially. And he’s got squat out of him.”

Spencer scowled, “I got him to tell me that he’s killed outside of the US,” he said, “Garcia was able to find almost two dozen new kills that could be linked to him.”

“ _Could be,_ ” Morgan said, “You asked him point blank if he killed those people and he refused to tell you. He’s leading you on, Reid. He just wants someone to toy with. You’re walking a dangerous line.”

Reid scowled, “Let me be the judge of that,” he snapped, increasing his gait to get away from them. This time they didn’t follow and Reid was almost grateful that he wouldn’t have to carry on a conversation any longer.

* * *

“Spencer,” Hannibal’s voice swam in his mind as he rubbed his eyes. His headache was worse than it had ever been before and he couldn’t focus on anything. Images were swimming through his mind and he could swear he heard a distinct ringing in his ears, the thrumming beat of drums echoing somewhere behind the violent crescendo of his pain.

“Spencer are you alright?” the concern in Hannibal’s voice was what pulled his attention back to the other man. He was eighty percent certain the concern was fake – Hannibal was a psychopath, after all. He was capable of feeling, but generally not for other people’s well-being.

“I’m sorry,” even to his own ears his voice sounded strained. He also wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. “It’s just a headache…”

He forced his eyes open and looked at the doctor, taking a steadying breath. The pain simmered down to something slightly more bearable, but it continued to throb incessantly at his temples. 

“You were saying?”

“I don’t think our previous conversation is important right now, Spencer. Tell me, how long have you been having these headaches?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened and he shrugged, “Not long. A few months, off and on.”

“Spencer…” there was a strange warning note in Hannibal’s voice and he immediately felt a spike of fear at his tone. He answered without thinking.

“I had the first headache two months and eighteen days ago,” he said, “This is the fifth one and they’re growing in severity.”

“Hmm, have you seen a doctor about it?”

“One,” Spencer sighed and let his head drop into his hands. It was too much work to keep his head up. 

Hannibal watched him massage his temples, his long fingers going white as they pressed against the sides of his aching skull. Again his mind went to Will and all the times the other man had been in a very similar position, head throbbing, hands pressed against his face, shaking slightly.

Of course, this wasn’t encephalitis and Spencer wasn’t Will. 

That didn’t make the comparison any less meaningful to Hannibal.

It took Spencer a moment to realize that Hannibal was still talking and then another moment to crush the irrational guilt he felt for ignoring him. For some reason, he felt bad for being _rude_. 

“Sorry,” he forced himself to sit back up, “What did you say?”

Hannibal sighed, but didn’t seem irritated, “I asked what your doctor told you, Spencer,”

He stiffened and shook his head, “I think we should stay on topic, Dr. Lecter. We were talking about you.”

“Yes,” Hannibal nodded, “We _were_ talking about me. Now we’re talking about you. Specifically, these headaches you’ve been having. What did the doctor tell you?”

Spencer sighed. He knew well enough by now that he would get nowhere with Lecter if he didn’t answer the question. With Hannibal everything was a game of give and take; he gave and Hannibal took. Sometimes it was more akin to chess. Spencer was good at chess, but he had a sinking feeling Hannibal was better.

“He said there was nothing physically wrong with me,”

The break in his voice made Hannibal smile and he leaned forward, eyes bright, “Physically?”

Spencer closed his eyes before answering, “He suggest that it was psychosomatic,”

Only Hannibal’s impeccable control stopped him from grinning widely. It was like playing the game with Will all over again, only with a different set of rules and a few new players. The added restriction of his cell only made things more interesting.

“Your mind playing tricks on you, Spencer?”

His jaw was tight, “No,” he said, “It’s something physical. I know what mental illness looks like and this isn’t it. I’ve seen it. I grew up with it. There is something wrong and it is not mental. It’s not.”

He sounded desperate, his words a burst of anger mixed with fear. He had to wonder if Spencer was even aware of how much his words echoed Will Graham’s. It was astonishing the similarities that were beginning to make themselves known. God must have been smiling upon him when he delivered Spencer Reid to him. Or perhaps that was Satan; Hannibal couldn’t say for sure and didn’t really care.

“Or,” Hannibal said, gently, “perhaps your mind truly is slipping, Spencer. Schizophrenia has been known to be hereditary and you are at the proper age for it to present itself. A shame that such a bright mind would be addled with such a terrible mental illness –”

“It’s not schizophrenia!” the words were nearly shouted and if there was ever a time when Spencer hated him, it was then. His fists were clenched tight and shaking and he met his eyes with a blazing fury that surprised even Hannibal.

“I am not hallucinating, Dr. Lecter. I am one hundred percent lucid.”

“As far as you are aware,” he said. His voice was still gentle and it was difficult for Spencer to hate him when he spoke so calmly and carefully. As if he regretted saying what he was saying.

“You could very well be dissociating without ever knowing it. You know as well as I do that it is possible that you -”

“Shut up!”

The words were harsh and abrupt and Spencer was breathing too heavily. He was standing and glaring at him, his chest heaving with the hard inhales and exhales.

“Just shut up,” he said more slowly, his eyes closing for a moment as he gathered himself and carefully rebuilt the wall he’d started building up to keep Hannibal out. It was a flimsy wall at best and Hannibal could see through the cracks. A waste of his time, really.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said, “I know what you’re trying to do, Doctor and it isn’t going to work.”

“Isn’t it?” Hannibal smiled, flashing his teeth for a moment, “Spencer have you ever considered that for all of your intelligence you’re really quite naïve? If you continue to delude yourself you’re only going to make it easier for me to harm you.”

Spencer just stared at him, lips folded together tightly, eyes swimming with tears. Hannibal wasn’t sure if they were from the pain, the anger or the fear but they were beautiful all the same. The tears made his hazel eyes shine so brightly, sparkling behind the pain that flashed within them.

“You don’t scare me, Dr. Lecter,”

“You’re lying,” Hannibal said, “I can smell your fear, Spencer. I can see it in your eyes. You fear me and you fear that I’m right. You fear that these headaches are indicative of something far worse happening in your mind and you don’t want to admit it because fear makes you _weak_.”

Spencer inhaled sharply and turned to leave, “Goodbye, Dr. Lecter,”

Hannibal smiled, “I’ll you see tomorrow, Spencer,”

Spencer paused, jaw tight and shook his head, “No you won’t,”

Hannibal simply inclined his head, waiting until Spencer was farther down the hall to whisper, “But I will, Spencer…”

* * *

His headache was slowly dissipating by the time he got back to his hotel. He pressed his head against the coolness of the door for a moment before sliding the keycard into the lock and pushing it open. He tried to let every thought evaporate from his mind, leaving him floating a bit as the pain eked away.

The door clicked shut behind him and he opened his eyes to see a small, neatly wrapped box sitting on his bed with an envelope embellished with familiar handwriting.

His heart thudded in his chest. This was impossible. Dr. Lecter was locked up in his cell; there was no way that he’d delivered this. No way.

And yet…

His hand shook as he picked up the envelope first, mindfully keeping his fingers around the edges as he sliced it open. He expected a letter, but what tumbled out was a very carefully folded drawing of him. His heart felt stuck in his chest as he studied the drawing. 

He looked utterly broken and though the entire thing was done in charcoal pencil, he could tell the dark splotches on his hands were meant to be blood. There was a strangely real, wild look in his eyes and he was doubled over on his knees, bleeding. There was a gaping hole where his heart was supposed to be.

He bit his lip and quelled the urge to crumble the portrait, instead setting it aside on the table beside the bed and turning his attention to the box, his heart thrumming very painfully against his ribcage. He didn’t want to know what was inside, but he knew that he needed to open it. He needed to know what it was.

He was careful as he cut the paper wrapping, wishing for a moment that he had a pair of gloves to put on. As the plain brown paper fell away he saw an ornate, old box that was a bit withered with age. He bit down on his lower lip hard as he reached out and flipped the golden latch, taking a step back quickly as the lid slowly tipped open.

He stomach turned as he stared down at what was inside, trying to figure out what he was seeing. It didn’t register for a long moment and when his mind finally accepted it, he was already halfway out the door with his cell phone in his hand.

“Hotch, you need to get to Maryland. _Now_ ,” 

He didn’t wait to hear Hotch’s question of what was going on or why he needed to be there. His voice pitched high in his panic and he was barely aware that he was stepping into the elevator to go to the lobby.

“It’s Dr. Lecter,” he said, and his voice still sounded all wrong. Too high, too quick, too absolutely terrified.

“He just sent me a human heart…”

* * *

Spencer was early the next morning and Hannibal smiled, closing his eyes as the young agent practically stormed down the hall.

“How did you do it?” Spencer’s voice was sharp, angry and determined.

Very slowly, he opened his eyes to look at the young man. He was a mess – the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, his skin paler and his hair a disheveled tangle of curls. He allowed himself a tiny smile at Spencer’s expense.

“How did I do what?”

Spencer had never seemed quite so angry, “I’m not in the mood for games right now, Dr. Lecter. Whose heart was that?”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled, “Ah, that,” he nodded, “Did you enjoy my gift? I thought it was a tad inappropriate but I didn’t want to give you something mundane or dull so heart is was.”

“Whose heart, Doctor?”

“I’m sure your labs at the FBI can figure that out soon enough for themselves,” he said, his tone still pleasant and utterly unruffled. Spencer, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more and more agitated.

“How did it get in my hotel room? Who did you send to put it there?”

“Who says I sent someone, Spencer?”

“Who did you send?” Spencer’s teeth were gritting together and he was obviously in pain on top of his anger and fear. “This isn’t a game.”

“I disagree,” Hannibal said, “Just because you’re losing at the moment doesn’t mean this isn’t a game. I’m rather enjoying myself, Spencer.”

“Tell me who you got to deliver that package!”

It was a harsh, angry burst that Spencer instantly regretted, his eyes dropping from Hannibal’s to stare at his hands as he took deep, harsh breaths.

Hannibal’s face hardened at the outburst, his eyes going dark and cold for a split second, the truth of his mask slipping out enough to make Spencer shudder.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I will, Spencer. The entertainment in here isn’t particularly good and I have become fond of watching you squirm.”

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed several times, like he was trying to figure out what to say or how to respond. Before he could Barney, the only guard in the place Hannibal had any fondness for, appeared. 

He looked curiously between the two before turning to Spencer, “Dr. Reid, your team is here. They’re waiting in Dr. Chilton’s office.”

With a brisk nod, Spencer turned and followed Barney down the hall without a word to Hannibal. Hannibal couldn’t help but think that Spencer was being extremely rude. He would have to address that the next time they spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will will be showing up in the next part. Most of the warnings apply more to the second half than to this half. So be prepared for some surprises. Also Will. I am so excited to write Will in this.
> 
> All mistakes are, as always, my own. Any thoughts or comments are welcome!
> 
> If you need me, I'll be in Hell. Laughing evilly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the second part, as promised. Just be ready for some slightly disturbing (or more than slightly...?) things.
> 
> It's much, much longer than I originally planed. I almost broke it into two seperate parts, but decided against it so you get it all at once. Enjoy!

“Reid,” Prentiss was the first one to greet him as he entered Chilton’s office. He didn’t meet any of their eyes, already knowing what he would see: concern, worry, pity. It wasn’t anything he wanted to deal with at the moment so instead he jumped headlong into the issue at hand.

“He’s working with someone on the outside,” he said, “He knew I would be arriving yesterday and he knew what time I usually show up. He had to have gotten someone else to break into my hotel room while I was gone.”

“We already figured as much,” Hotch said, “but the security cameras in the hotel were tampered with. We might be dealing with someone who works at the hotel. Garcia’s going through the records.”

Reid nodded, his throat felt tight as he took a seat and pressed his fingers into his eyes, “What about the heart?” he asked, “Have you figured out where it came from?”

“Not yet,” Rossi said, “they’re running DNA tests against his known victims but that’ll take a while and according to the ME the heart looked fresh. I don’t think this is one of his victims.”

“So he got someone to kill for him,” Reid wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Can they tell how long the heart’s been… out?”

“It was kept on ice,” Morgan said, “we can’t tell much more beyond that. It wasn’t damaged, relatively healthy. We won’t have much more to go on until they finish the tests.”

“We can get a warrant to go through his mail,” Seaver began awkwardly, “but… Dr. Chilton told us we probably won’t find anything. Lecter destroys a lot of his mail.”

Reid nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted, “Most likely,” he agreed, “he’ll only keep correspondence if it means something to him and he won’t have anything that can incriminate him or give us any leads. He’s too smart for that.”

“That’s what we figured,” Rossi said, “And since we know Lecter’s talking to someone out there, we’ve got to worry about whether this guy will kill for him again. We can’t risk that…”

“So… we’re bringing in an expert,” Hotch watched Reid’s face carefully as he spoke. The young agent’s brows furrowed and he frowned.

“An expert?”

“Someone who knows Dr. Lecter,” Seaver said, “Will Graham…”

* * *

“I know this makes you uncomfortable, Will -”

Will sneered, “Uncomfortable?” he turned to look at Jack, his glasses slightly askew. “That’s not really the right word, Jack.”

Jack sighed, “Look, Lecter’s working with somebody,” he said, “You know him better than –”

“I _knew_ him,” Will snapped, “Or at least I thought I did. Before he framed me for murder and shoved a knife in my gut.”

“There are lives at stake here,” Jack said, “We need to find out who Lecter’s dealing with and fast before anyone else dies.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Will said, “You don’t have to convince me, Jack, I already agreed to do this. No clue why…” he muttered sarcastically and shook his head, “As long as I don’t have to talk to Hannib – Dr. Lecter, I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that; Dr. Reid and Agent Hotchner are going to be speaking with Lecter,”

“Seems a bit risky,” Will noted, “Letting Dr. Reid go back in to talk to him after all this.”

“He won’t talk to anyone without him,” Jack said, “It’s the quickest way to get this over with.”

“That always was your priority, wasn’t it?” Will’s tone was biting, but he avoided looking at Jack at all as they walked together toward the conference room in the BAU. It had been over three years since Will had set foot in the building and things still looked remarkably the same.

“Find the killer quick, no matter the costs,”

Jack scowled, but let the comment pass, figuring he probably deserved that one.

“Just play nice, Will,” he said, “We’re all here to do the same thing.”

* * *

“Mr. Graham,” Will was greeted by a tall man with dark hair. He had the same determined, hard look in his dark eyes that reminded Will of Jack. He held a hand out and Will stared at it for a moment before grasping it, not surprised at the firm grip.

“I’m Agent Hotchner; these are Agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Dr. Reid,” he motioned to each agent in turn, “and Cadet Seaver,”

Will only flicked his eyes toward each out of courtesy, not meeting any of their gazes. His attention lingered on Dr. Reid. He was tall and thin and gangly, too pale and obviously hadn’t slept. If he’d been spending time with Lecter, Will wasn’t surprised.

He realized they were expecting him to say something, but instead he moved toward the evidence board which was sadly empty.

“This is everything you have?”

There were pictures of the heart – thick and deep brown and purple, bits of congealed blood clinging to it in some places. Whoever it had belonged to, it had been removed in its entirety, but it wasn’t the same familiar, precise cuts that he knew Dr. Lecter was capable of.

“This definitely wasn’t Lecter,” he said, still staring at the heart. He heard someone – probably Agent Hotchner, though he wasn’t really listening – say something to the affirmative. His attention was drawn away from the photos and to the black and white sketch that was taped there as well.

“This was…” he reached out and touched the drawing, a faint frown on his face.

“You didn’t get anything from the hotel cameras?”

“No,” that was definitely Hotchner, “They were tampered with. We’re already pulling records from all the employees at the hotel.”

“And I assume you didn’t find anything in his mail?”

“Nothing,”

“It’d be easier if you knew who the heart belonged to,” Will said. He still hadn’t turned away from the evidence board. It was much more manageable to stare at the disembodied heart than it was to look at the profilers in the room. They were all tense and on edge, wanting something to do.

“We’re working on it,”

“Well, if your goal is the save lives, work faster,” he was being an ass and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Over three years of spending time pretty much isolated from everyone except his dogs and that’s what would happen. He already had poor enough people skills when he'd had to interact with people everyday.

He waited until he heard them leaving to turn around, not surprised to find that Dr. Reid was still standing there, staring at him. It was a strangely piercing stare, like he was trying to lift the thoughts right out of his head. He tried not think about how that reminded him of Hannibal.

“You just gonna stand there?”

“How well did you know Dr. Lecter?”

“Not well enough apparently,” Will said, looking at the other man’s face, but avoiding his slightly bloodshot eyes.

His face was pinched, the pale skin taut and drawn tight to his bones. It wasn’t just stress and fear that were plaguing him; this man was in pain. Will decided not to mention it.

“I only asked because he talks about you,” Dr. Reid continued, still studying his face in a way that made Will very uncomfortable.

“Does he?” Will tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice hitched a bit too much. He was actually grateful when Dr. Reid didn’t comment on that.

“He seems very… _fond_ of you,”

Will snorted, “So his way of showing that is by trying to kill me? Interesting…”

Reid sighed, sounding thoroughly exasperated as he continued to stare at Will. He thought maybe the other man was done speaking until he asked,

“Did you and Hannibal Lecter have a sexual relationship?”

Will blinked, “You don’t beat around the bush do you?” he asked, a small smile on his face. “You know, you’re the first person to actually ask that. I think everyone else was just scared if they did I might actually break…”

“You didn’t answer the question, Mr. Graham,”

“Yes,”

If he was surprised at Will’s blunt answer, he didn’t show it. Then again, there was no telling what Lecter had told him. They had been talking to each other for over a year.

“Why?”

“I was curious,”

“Ah, curious…” Will nodded thoughtfully, “Why? Do _you_ want a sexual relationship with him?”

Reid blinked, suddenly flustered, “Of course not,” he said abruptly, his pale face pink with blush. Will could definitely see what Lecter saw in the young doctor. He practically screamed his emotions with his expressions. He imagined Hannibal enjoyed that about him.

He didn’t get a chance to ask anything else. Dr. Reid left quickly after that, saying something about helping his team with the hotel records. Will didn’t mind. He sat down by himself at the conference table and began sifting through the stack of letters they’d confiscated from Lecter’s cell.

This should be fun…

* * *

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name, Agent Hotchner,” Hannibal said, polite as ever when Spencer and the other agent sat down across from him in the cell. Hannibal had hoped that they would allow him to be in an interrogation room to speak, but they didn’t trust him outside of the cell, apparently. Smart move, he had to admit.

“I heard about the loss of your ex-wife several months ago; it’s a pity,”

Agent Hotchner was much better at controlling his facial expressions than Spencer was. He remained impassive as ever, even at the mention of his dead ex. He reminded Hannibal very much of Jack, though perhaps a bit less distant than Crawford was. The way he angled his body slightly toward Spencer and the way his dark eyes burned with anger was enough for Hannibal to know he took the gift he'd sent to Spencer very personally.

“Dr. Lecter, whose heart was that?”

“I’m sure you’ve already determined that I could not possibly have killed whoever that heart belonged to; why do you assume that I know who the victim is?”

“Because whoever died, was killed at your request,” Spencer’s voice was sharp, his eyes burning just a bit.

He inhaled sharply, catching a strangely familiar scent as he did. He frowned a bit as he leaned forward, continuing to try and place the faint scent as he spoke, “You seem to have figured out a great deal already then. I don’t see why you need my help to connect the rest.”

“Who are you communicating with?” Hotchner’s voice was cold, “Who did you get to deliver that package?”

Hannibal smiled, “I’m sure you can figure this out on your own. Besides, it wouldn’t be much fun if I simply supplied you with the answers, would it? Far too easy.”

He was beginning to recognize the scent and his smile suddenly turned speculative as he tilted his head, catching Spencer’s eyes for a long moment.

“Or perhaps you don’t really need my help at all. You neglected to mention that Will Graham was assisting you,”

That certainly surprised Agent Hotchner. His nostrils flared slightly, his eyes widening as he stared at him. He started to object, but Hannibal wouldn’t let him lie to him. He was no idiot and he _knew_ that scent.

“I can smell his aftershave,” Hannibal said, “I would recognize that atrocious scent anywhere. I told him to change it. Tell me, why is Will not the one down here interrogating me?”

“He didn’t want to see you,” Spencer’s words were blunt and Hannibal was surprised at the hostility he noted there.

“He didn’t? That’s strange…”

“Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you nearly eviscerated him?” Spencer suggested. His words were still heated and Hannibal smiled a bit at him.

“Perhaps… We did not part on friendly terms, I suppose. How is he?”

“That’s none of your concern, Dr. Lecter,” Hotchner was quick to jump in, leaning forward, his eyes scanning Lecter’s empty cell. As punishment for his little gift, his drawings and books had been removed from the cell and he was left with nothing aside from his bed. It was very irritating, but Hannibal figured it was also worth it.

“If you can tell us who delivered your package, we can talk to the Chief of Staff and try to get your books return to you, Doctor,” Hannibal suspected he would have continued, but his cell phone began trilling a loud and annoying sound at his hip and he glanced down at it. It must have been serious because he stood and unclipped it from his belt.

“Garcia?”

What followed was a short, clipped conversation comprised mostly of “Are you sure?”s and “Alright,”s from Agent Hotchner. Judging from the way he kept glancing down at Spencer, however, Hannibal thought it safe to assume they had discovered the identity of the heart’s owner.

Hannibal grinned and Spencer shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, turning his attention to his boss. As soon as Hotchner hung up from his call, he turned to leave.

“Reid, we need go,”

“But Hotch, we -”

“Now, Reid!” Hotch barked. Reid frowned and was quick to follow his boss down the hall, his bewildered expression turning into worry as the Unit Chief took him by the arm as they exited the cellblock and gave him a long look before asking,

“When was the last time you spoke to your father?”

* * *

The small bedroom was ripe with the smell of blood as Will entered it, almost gagging. It had been far too long since he’d actually been at a crime scene. The Las Vegas heat had not been kind to the decaying body and Will had to wonder how he’d gone so many days without being discovered. The smell hung in the air, thick and palpable. He felt crowded without anyone else there and almost jumped when he heard quiet footsteps behind him.

He turned slightly to see Dr. Reid standing there, his eyes wide and his mouth partly open. He was even paler than he had been before and he looked like he was going to be sick.

Not that Will could blame him. As far as crime scenes went, this was pretty gruesome. The man lay on the bed, spread eagle. His wrists and feet had been tied down, deep purple bruises marring the flesh. There were defensive wounds on his arms, but he couldn’t tell if there were any on the face; it was already so bashed in and cut up it was barely recognizable.

He was shirtless, the skin flayed from his chest and hanging on by about an inch of fat and muscle. His ribcage appeared to have been ripped open with someone’s bare hands.

The lungs were a shredded mess and there was so much blood; it sunk into the blanket and sheets and was splattered in a huge red arc across the wall and ceiling. The smell was cloying and thick.

It was difficult to tell from the angle, but it looked like his shoulders were dislocated and beneath the bloody, pulverized mess that had been his face, Will was certain his eyes had been gouged out viciously, the sockets bloody and black. A knife had probably been used.

This was brutal and messy and angry. Nothing like Hannibal’s kills, that much was for certain. There was no art, there was no rhyme or reason, no deeper purpose behind the display…

Well, none other than the effect it appeared to be having on Dr. Reid.

He heard the young man make a sick noise and glanced at his pale face again, “Were you close to your father?” he asked.

“No…” the words were choked. He looked down quickly, pressing a free hand into his eyes. “Not really.”

Will nodded, turning back to face the scene. He wasn’t even aware that Dr. Reid had stepped out until he heard the soft click of the door behind him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them slowly to look at body with new eyes…

* * *

“How much did you tell Lecter about your father?”

“I told you, Hotch,” Reid’s voice was strained, “nothing! I never even told him where I was from.”

“You had to have told him something, Reid,” Prentiss was trying to be gentle as she leaned forward, watching her friend try to control his emotions. “Why else would he have sent this guy after him?”

Reid just shook his head, “I’m telling you I didn’t tell him anything. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t give him my personal information.”

“You told him something, Kid,” Morgan was almost whispering he was talk so softly. Reid felt the irrational urge to punch him for being so damn patronizing. He wasn’t a child. He was a grown man and he could take care of himself.

“I didn’t tell him anything. The only thing he knows about my dad is that he left when I was ten. I never told him more than that. Not his name, not where he lived or what he does…”

“Just telling him he abandoned you was enough,” Will’s voice behind him made Reid jumped and he whirled around to stare at the other man. Will looked exhausted, pale and strung out. Reid realized he wasn’t the only one losing sleep over this.

“Dr. Lecter can take even the tiniest bit of personal information and use it against you,” he said, “So when he heard your dad ditched you, he probably decided to punish him for it.” His lips turned up in a sarcastic smile and he snatched his glasses off, rubbing his eyes, “A father abandoning his child is… _rude_.”

Reid sighed, shoulders falling. His face was still pinched with pain and Will was frankly surprised no one else had noticed it yet. There was something very wrong with Spencer Reid, but he was doing his damndest to hide it. He again opted not to mention it.

“We’re gonna need to know everything you talked to him about,” Hotch said, “if he asked this guy to kill someone else, we’ll need as many leads as we can find.”

* * *

_“You remind me of him, you know,”_

_“Of Will Graham?”_

_“Yes. You are both consumed by misplaced guilt and overwhelming emotion. It’s quite fascinating.”_

_“I’m not him, Dr. Lecter,”_

_“Of course not. …But the similarities are quite astonishing,”_

“I told you he talked about you,”

Will jumped and spun to see Dr. Reid standing behind him. He’d been listening to the recordings of Dr. Reid and Dr. Lecter’s conversations for the past few hours, trying to find anything that might help them figure out who else Hannibal might target in the agent’s life. So far there was no one except members of his team and his mother. All easily protected.

He hadn’t gotten much from the crime scene. It was brutal and messy, but detached. Whoever had killed William Reid had done so only because Hannibal asked him to. He wanted to please Hannibal, to make him proud. To impress him. That was the reason for the brutality and the gruesome theatricality of the scene. Whoever they were, they were a fan. The FBI was already looking into anyone who had ever sent Hannibal letters, but there were a surprisingly large number of people to go through.

He paused the recording on the tablet and frowned, watching Dr. Reid wince as he took a long drag off his coffee.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“My father was just murdered, Mr. Graham -”

“No, I mean physically,” Will cut him off, frowning at him, “I noticed it earlier. You’re in pain. A lot of pain. And you’re hiding it.”

“It’s just a headache,”

“A headache?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Graham,” Reid’s voice was stiff, “We should really be focusing on the case.”

“Did you see a doctor?” Will asked, not willing to drop the subject just yet. Whatever else was going on, Will could certain see the similarities between himself and this man and he felt the irresistible urge to make sure he didn’t end up like he had.

“He said there was nothing wrong with me,” Will recognized that sharp tone. It was the same one he’d used when he’d told Hannibal what Dr. Sutcliffe had told him about his MRI.

He nodded slowly, “Want my advice?” he asked, meeting Reid’s eyes for the briefest of moments, “Get a second opinion.”

* * *

Reid tossed and turned in his bed that night, his dreams consumed with images of his father, brutalized and murdered and dripping his own blood; Hannibal and some faceless man with a knife, groveling at Hannibal’s feet. Ever since his headaches had started he hadn’t had many nightmares. Then again, he hadn’t been sleeping much either.

He woke up, his heart pounding his chest, and shuffled against his headboard, pressing a hand to his throbbing temples and trying to will the pain to go away. He forced himself to breathe in and out slowly for several seconds, allowing his heart rate to return to normal.

His head was still aching, but it was nothing that a few aspirin couldn’t manage. He fumbled his way out of bed and felt along the bedside table, frowning when he realized the bottle he kept there was gone. He could have sworn he’d left it there that morning before heading to the office. Was his memory slipping?

That thought terrified him more than anything. His memory was what he had, it was the _only_ thing he had. Without it, how could he be Spencer Reid? He’d never lived in a world without his memory to help him.

He swallowed roughly and told himself it was just the stress of the last few weeks, that was all. He wasn’t forgetting things; too much was simply happening at once.

He made his way to the bathroom where he kept the extra bottles and froze when he heard a faint creaking outside in the hall. His heart rate started to climb again as he went to the safe beside his bed and pulled out his spare revolver.

Checking the chamber, he realized it was empty and pulled open the drawer to get more bullets. The bullets were missing.

His chest felt tight against his frantically beating heart, but he swallowing the fear and slid the chamber closed. No one had to know the gun was empty. It might be enough to scare someone off.

He crept out of the room and wished that he had left his cell phone on the bedside table instead of tossing it on the coffee table in the living room after a frustrating conversation with Rossi.

The apartment was dark and there was no one in sight as he made his way quietly down the hall. He knew the space well enough that he didn’t need the light anyway, which at least gave him some small advantage.

There was a tinkle of glass and the quiet thud of a cabinet being closed and he turned toward the kitchen, swallowing painfully. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was only making his headache worse, which in turn only made it more difficult to focus, but he blinked his eyes and forced himself to move against the pain.

The kitchen was empty whenever he entered it and he let his shoulders fall a bit as his eyes scanned every inch of the place. Maybe his mind really _was_ playing tricks on him. The thought was only mildly comforting when the implications of what that could mean swam through his head.

Just as he turned to search the rest of the apartment more thoroughly – and grab his cell phone from the living room – a heavy hand came down around his shoulders and he spun, fighting against iron like fingers.

His attacker grunted and threw and arm out, shoving him backwards. He dropped the useless gun and slamming into his counter tops, wincing as the hard surface bit sharply into his back.

He spun to see who it was, but it was dark and he could only make out that the man was nearly as tall as him, more muscularly built and holding what looked very much like one of his own kitchen knives.

His stomach bottomed out as the silvery blade glinted in the dim moonlight and he just barely ducked out of the way as the man slashed at him again. He fell to his knees and crawled away, forcing himself back onto his feet when his attacker spun to find him again.

He spotted the gun where it had clattered to the ground and dove for it, the man grunting as he rammed hard into his shoulder. Pain flared up in his lower arm, fiery and vicious, but ultimately not lethal. He could feel the hot blood seeping out, but ignored it, fingers fumbling toward the gun.

He snatched it up in time to see his attacker come at him again, the blood gleaming like oil on the knife as he swung again. He missed this time, but Spencer was ready and one well aimed hit with the gun caught him in the temple.

He swayed, stumbled and reached up to touch the no doubt bloody wound on his head, but it didn’t stop him for long before he lunged at Spencer again and managed to knock him down, straddling him on the floor of his kitchen.

His head was throbbing with such intensity that he could hardly see anything at that point, but he saw the knife coming toward his face and reacted without thinking, latching both hands onto his wrists to stop the sharp blade.

His own blood dripped down onto his face and the gash in his arm was screaming in pain, but he fought with all his strength to keep the man’s hands where there were, poised in mid-strike. He shoved back, his gut clenching painfully with the movement and wriggled under the man’s heavier weight.

One of his legs were free and though the angle was awkward and painful, he managed to kick up, thankful for his long limbs when his foot connected with the man’s back. The blow wasn’t particularly powerful, but it was enough to surprise him and his grip around the knife weakened for a second.

That was all Reid needed to rip the knife away from him, cutting his hand in the process and plunge it blindly into the other man. Through the red haze of pain and the darkness, he didn’t realize how much blood he had on him, the moment seeming to last an eternity as he stabbed and jerked back, shoving the man off of him and stabbing again and again in his panic.

By the time the red haze cleared, he was sitting on his knees, knife in hand, breathing hard.

Heart thudding more slowly now, Spencer belatedly realized how much clearer his mind felt; the pain of the headache all but gone. He dropped the knife, his eyes wide, and stumbled to his feet, fumbling with sticky hands for the light switch.

The scene before him was like so many crime scenes he’d seen over the years. Blood was everywhere. On his hands, on his clothes, in a huge puddle on the floor. It was red and slippery, thick, but not congealing yet. It was already starting to feel sticky beneath his bare feet as he scrambled back and tried to study the scene with objective eyes.

The man’s neck had at least two deep stab wounds – which probably accounted for most of the blood – and his chest was ripped to shreds. The blood on his clothes looked black where it had stained. He didn't recognize the man's face, but that didn't really matter at the moment. His eyes were wide open and glazed over with death, staring up at nothing.

Spencer was only dimply aware of his own relatively harmless wounds – a deep gash in his arm and a cut along his palm from wrestling the knife away. He looked down at his hands, coated in sticky, bright red blood and fought the urge to vomit. He could feel it collecting under his fingernails and sinking into the creases of his palms. Idly, he wondered if he would ever be able to wash the stain out of his skin. It felt as if the blood were seeping into his very pores.

His pajama pants were soaked, red and black and wet. His shirt was no better, the thin fabric drenched in the stranger’s blood. He could feel the slowly drying wetness or more blood against his face and almost reached up to wipe it away before he remembered that his hands were covered as well.

Swallowing roughly, he stumbled to his living room, ignoring the bloody trail of footprints that followed behind him, and fumbled with his cell phone, wincing as his bloody fingers squeaked against the keypad.

His voice shook terribly as he spoke, “M-Morgan… You need to call the rest of the team… I think I just found who Lecter was working with…”

* * *

“How’s he doing?” Rossi’s voice was quiet as he came to stand beside Hotch. The red and blue lights of cop cars had faded long ago and they were both staring at Reid, the young man looking small and fragile in the back of an ambulance while an EMT looked over his injured hand.

“He’s in shock,” Hotch said, “but he’ll be fine.”

Rossi glanced back toward the apartment and frowned, “Sure about that?”

“No…” Hotch sighed and shook his head, his entire body seeming to fall a bit as he glanced over at the older man.

“He still hasn’t said anything?”

“Not yet,”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Rossi tried to sound optimistic, but Hotch scoffed, a bitter, horrible sound.

“There’d better be,”

“There is,”

“Did you see the body, Dave?” Hotch turned demanding eyes on him and Rossi shrugged, not meeting his gaze.

“This is Reid,” he said, “He’d never do that without a reason.”

“I hope you’re right.”

* * *

“I heard you were heading back to Florida tomorrow,” Reid’s voice was stiff and a bit hollow as Will watched him pack up his things from his desk.

“I heard you were taking a leave of absence to go to Vegas,”

He nodded, “I have to figure out things for my dad’s estate,” he said, “and I haven’t visited my mom for a while.”

“When you do come back -”

“ _If_ ,” Dr. Reid looked up sharply, his hazel eyes dark and as hollow as his voice. “If I come back.”

Will nodded, “If,” he corrected, “if you do, just do yourself a favor: stay away from Dr. Lecter.”

“I’ll remember that,” Reid nodded and Will felt a bit of the tightness that had developed in his chest ease up. Maybe now that this was over Dr. Reid would at least be safe. A couple of small scars and a dead father were a high price to pay, but at least he was alive.

“Good,” he nodded, feeling the normal awkwardness that social interaction usually brought creeping up on him. “And don’t forget that second opinion. Doctors aren’t always right. I should know.”

* * *

Hannibal’s grin was surprised as he studied the man standing across from him, “I didn’t expect to see you here,”

Will bit his lip and avoided looking at Hannibal, “I didn’t expect to be here,”

“I heard you didn’t want to see me,”

“I didn’t,”

“Then why are you here, Will? It’s been so long…”

“I’m here because of Dr. Reid,”

“Ah,” Hannibal’s eyes lit up, “Did you meet him? Remarkable isn’t he?”

Will’s jaw tightened, “Whatever you’re doing with him, needs to stop.”

“Does it?”

Will took a deep breath and shook his head, feeling constricted and trapped despite the fact that Hannibal was the one in the cage.

“He’s a good man, Hannibal. Leave him alone,”

Hannibal grinned, “You were a good man too, once, my dear Will…”

He flinched and looked down at his hands, sighing heavily.

“I was,” he said softly, looking up and locking eyes with the monster that he’d thought he’d loved, “Once.”

* * *

 

  
**-end-**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I end the series here? Or continue on with the disturbing plans I have for it? Hmm...
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any thoughts or comments are welcome!


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